Midori doesn’t understand the overrated and debatable charm of shoujo-ai-sh stuff.
Dramatic kisses under the rain, rushed confessions, train rides hand in hand –
Well, the last one is kinda familiar to him, but no wet make outs or cobbled declarations of love, and it’s fine because sometimes it’s difficult as it is to remain stoic and to not cover his much red face in front of Tetora’s luminous smile or Shinobu’s timid kiss to his left cheek.
It’s not that he hates this kind of little attentions, because both Tetora and Shinobu are maternal and affectionate, but Midori was born into a sweet but severe and detached house, and the sensation of unconditioned fondness and the warmth of dozing cuddle sessions are welcomed and treasured and cherished as dear memories and fill his heart with some indecisive mixture of idiotic love and terror.
Because he often thinks he cannot demonstrate how much this means to him, the fundamental closeness that tames his traitorous mind and tears the tall walls of indifference –
Yet it seems that Shinobu is fine holding his hand and rocking it on the way back home into the warm sunset colours while he waltzes on the low wall next to Midori, and Tetora loves to nestle on his chest and dive into the crook of his neck and ok, it is kinda cliché, but this is what lovers do, even if the term still sounds extraneous in his mouth because he was alone and then he wasn’t anymore.
Incredible, isn’t it.
Midori’s mint coloured sweater with that adorable kero mascot knitted on the front is enormous on Shinobu, and its collar is rather wide and worn out and it shows his beautiful and keen collarbones and an inviting slice of his shoulder, and Midori finds it rather difficult to resist to Shinobu’s comforting warmth.
He is curled into a fetal bundle of limbs and sheets and Midori snakes and links his arms around his lithe waist so that his hands hover across his venter and he can kiss the crown of his head and it is idiotic but Shinobu’s tinted tufts smell like chamomile and fruit and summer and home.
Midori cranes his neck to rest his mouth on his roundish and smooth cheek and he smiles on his soft skin when Shinobu relaxes in his slacken embrace and sinks in the mattress underneath with a content murmur, and he is ethereal with violet and disastrous locks scattered on the whiteish covers like an halo and his face bathed in the morning dusk.
Midori kisses him one more time on his cheekbone and lowers the thick hem of the sweater bunched around his slim sides that denudes his full and lukewarm haunches, venturing to caress the fine texture of Shinobu’s florid muscles and wallowing into their coziness.
Shinobu’s hands are covered with the oversized sleeves, and one is curled into a loose fist around Tetora’s.
Tetora, on his back and with his mouth half closed, has his face turned to them and his black and red hair covers his forehead, and some of the rebellious strands brushes his nose and oscillates in front of him when he breathes calm and serene.
Tetora’s free hand rests on his toned and bare stomach because he’s not as small as Shinobu, but Midori’s Gudetama tee is still rather extra on him and since Tetora is never still, even when he is unconscious, the shirt rolls to his venter and Midori blushes because the outline of his still immature abdominals or the trail of dark hair down his navel to the band of the boxers shouldn’t embarrass him this much now, but –
It feels intimate.
Midori’s hand skids out from the sheets and slides to Tetora’s face to fix a slob tuft of hair behind the ear that is not stuck to the futon, tickling its shell with his index and thumb and stirring him awake – more or less.
Tetora mumbles a series of incoherent words, and his hand reaches for Midori’s one and intertwines them into an idle motion, and Midori tries to formulate a subtle excuse, but the words die in his throat when Tetora turns his head and kisses its nodose back with his warm and dried out mouth and that ridiculous bedhead of his that sticks out in all directions –
Midori finds him wonderful.
When Tetora’s lids flutter, the rising sun catches onto his wet lashes and sets his feline irises on fire.
“Mornin’” he slurs, and Midori crooks a smile.
“Hi” he answers with a hoarse voice, touching the faint dark circles above his cheeks with timid and attentive knuckles because their seniors’ retirement from Yumenosaki is around the corner and Tetora works hard to validate Chiaki’s faith and his decision to transfer his main character role and the direction of the unit on him, even if he sometimes still laments that Morisawa is too loud and too fast and too much and there are times when Midori and Shinobu have to deal with Tetora’s fear to let taichou or Kanata down –
Bullshits, because Tetora is brave and mature and a force of the nature and he will be a fantastic leader, trust him.
Tetora’s mouth moves to kiss his wrist where his heartbeat resonates, and Midori stretches towards him to scratch his blunt nails behind his ear.
The movement is as attentive and careful as it can be, but Shinobu is cuddled into his arms and he senses it, ninja nature or not, muttering a snarl under his breath and turning around into his hold with an adorable frown that knits his short brows and inflates his round cheeks into a somehow comical and cute facet.
Tetora huffs a chuckle on the fair and thin skin of his arm, and Midori misses its moist warmth when he has to retreat his hand from his hair and he hooks it on Shinobu’s flank, smiling when Shinobu sinks his nose into the extension of his broad chest and he exhales a satisfied moan once he is settled and Midori’s thumb brushes his haunch.
Tetora shifts under the duvet until he is behind Shinobu and he can curl his arm around his frame with familiar ease, and when he noses at his hairline and kisses the delicious extent of skin that the too wide collar shows and Shinobu shivers into their secure holds, well –
All of this might be embarrassingly shoujo-ai-sh, but Midori thinks that it’s fine if it means he can be like this forever.